I will never look at Chevron gas stations in the same way. When I was in the hospital, at each nursing shift change, the outgoing nurse would update the incoming one about my situation and say that I had the chevron cut. The incoming nurse would look at my incision and give a knowing nod that it was major surgery and judge that I was doing quite well considering.
As the road pointed more definitely toward surgery, I kept wishing there would be some way to get out of it. I am a wimp for minor medical procedures, much less surgery. Surely somewhere along the way a doctor would say that I could be treated without surgery, or that it could at least be delayed longer. The kids put it in perspective, though. Max said that the surgery itself was not the main point, but rather the goal was for me to be healthy again. Chuck said on the night before surgery that tomorrow would be the first day of my road to recovery.
God cut short the process for us. Surgery revealed that there would be no complicated future of treatments, no decisions to be made. All that I had read and digested about the long road ahead was short circuited in an instant.
When the boys were playing KAC community league sports, there were no cuts and everyone was assured a minimum amount of playing time before the coach could decide who would play in the usually pivotal last quarter. In high school there were moments of joy and pain as we along with other families endured the cuts of which players would make the teams each year. This time I was glad I was the one who got cut.
Beyond Six Five 